


Angel or Serpent

by Lavenderhydrangea



Category: Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/M, Implied/Referenced Self-Harm, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-26
Updated: 2020-10-26
Packaged: 2021-03-08 18:22:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27201055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lavenderhydrangea/pseuds/Lavenderhydrangea
Summary: For the first time in his life, Zevran was ridiculously lucky. He had been spared a bloody fate and met a beguiling woman who offered him a hiatus from The Crows—She’d given him a second chance. Where was this sense of foreboding coming from then?
Relationships: Zevran Arainai/Female Cousland
Kudos: 7





	Angel or Serpent

Zevran had crows laying in wait for a taste of his flesh, and a siren in hot pursuit of his beating heart. Of the two, the latter kept him up at night the most. Her eyes playful yet her bearing strong-willed and hard-boiled, she was a force that never ceased. Every action she took was done so with purpose. For every question he asked she always had an answer. For every answer he gave she followed up with wave after wave of even more pressing questions. He tried to keep a steady footing around her but he failed each time.

Eventually he surrendered; he’d offered Ione the earring.

It was another evening beneath the stars for their party, huddled around a flame for warmth, food and conversation. Sten and the witch tucked themselves in early. Shale didn’t sleep but sought out the solitude of a tent nonetheless. Wynne _wanted_ to sleep, however, her motherly nature had put her in charge of making sure Oghren didn’t finally impair his liver. Leliana and Alistair were deep in a game of Wicked Grace and Ione watched for the bard’s tricky hand.

“Stealing from a babe should surely give you some type of guilt,” she teased.

_"Ah,_ _now_ _this is fascinating. You feel sorry for the young fellow?_ _T_ _oughen up. You’ll have to do a lot worse than pickpocket from a child’s coin purse if you intend_ _to survive_ _in house Arainai.”_

Zevran always had to shove the distinct voice of Leonel, one of his mentors, back into a little box only for him to spring out, twisted grin upon his lips, like a child’s crude toy. Made sense. He was a joking man until the end. He’d been extra loud since Kinloch Hold.

.

“A babe? Well, you’ve got to have a little more confidence in me than that. Only a moron would strike out in Wicked Grace.” Alistair said as he gave his set of cards a thorough look over.

Leliana giggled. “See? No need to worry. Straight from the babe’s mouth himself. If it makes you feel any better I don’t intend on keeping any coin I earn here. I’m petty not cruel.”

“Right, this babe—wait! Stop it you two. I’m a perfectly grown man.”

Ignoring her fussy fellow warden, she addressed Leliana once more. “ It would be better for you play our resident assassin. He offers more of a challenge.”

Their eyes were on him then. He was laid out on the right side of his body, head propped up on his palm and the aforementioned piece of jewelry hot in the pouch on his left hip. His forefinger drummed along his thigh. While he had been waiting for her attention, this was not how he expected it to be given to him. The games could wait for another time.

“Ah, yes, but if I swoop in to serve as a distraction how will our dear babe ever learn how to play properly?

_“You didn’t follow through_ _. Should’ve known_ _you wouldn’t_ _._ _You are_ _but a child_ _yourself_ _. A weak one at that.”_

“Not. A. Babe.”

“I’m sure you are to someone,” Leliana commented much to Alistair’s discomfiture.

“He’ll manage. Why don’t you play a few rounds, Zev?” She stared at him as if she could will whatever she thought he was hiding out from his head. “You look awful bored.”

“Not bored, no. Restless. Perhaps I can walk you back to your tent, my dear warden.”

“Walk me to my...“ She turned around to make sure her tent was in the same place she’d set it minutes ago. “ I don’t intend on getting Oghren levels of intoxicated this eve. Why would I need to be escorted to my tent? More importantly how would that help you with your restlessness? Is there something in my tent that you desire?”

Sudden failure to call upon his sliver tongue rendered him a hedging mess. “ You never know. You can waltz in, ready to lay your head upon your bed roll only to find a treacherous snake resting there instead. I only wish to see that your are protected. Uh, that is only if you allow it.”

_“Come come, where’s your nerve? I hear you’re suppose to be good at this type of thing.”_

Leliana’s lips spread into a slow grin. “What is this? The mighty Zevran fumbling for words? You perform miracles not even the Maker is capable of my friend.”

Ione took this as sign of trouble and though she’d misread the situation he overflowed with thanks and an undying need to cling to her. She lead them away with the excuse of needing to give him a dagger that Leliana didn’t want. On the way in he noticed that the healer had taken a break from watching over a blabbering Oghren to throw them an admonishing glare. She would get over it eventually.

“Are you well?” Ione asked once she sat him down on a bedroll. “You’re free to speak about whatever here.”

_“Are you_ _in trouble_ _? That’s entirely up to you. Come, I would like to play a game of Wicke_ _d_ _grace but with a_ _little more fun_ _._ _Let’s ask the young barmaid to_ _join_ _us._ _”_

The close quarters intensified the delightful aroma of the rosewater she used to sweeten her skin. Under normal circumstances, the scent would’ve drawn him to his knees, had him singing her praises and making promise after promise. Here, it only made him hyper aware of the weight of his words. One error would’ve caused him to sink. Or was that his nerves?

“ _Instead of betting something boring like gold, you’ll_ _be_ _betting your_ _welfare._ _Five rounds. You’re options are to bet a game of Pinfinger, where you’ll_ _lay your hand along the table and stab between your fingers in a rhythm like so._ _Or take_ _the less_ _unpredictable cho_ _ice. Choose_ _which part your le_ _ast_ _afraid of scaring and have at it. Obviously_ _the_ _losing hand is the one that follows through. If_ _they get cold feet_ _the_ _winn_ _ing_ _hand does it for them.”_

He opened the pouch and spoke of sentimentality and the dues he owed her. There had been no eager reaching for the earring on her part. Rather, with a tilt of her head she asked what it meant.

“You mean to ask what use it will provide? I’m sure it’s worth a small fortune. You may sell it if you like. Or if you find it looks beautiful on you—and I’m certain it will, my darling— wear it.”

“ You pay your debt with your blade and your time. Why give me your treasure? And why so out of the blue?” She tapped her temple. “There’s more going on in here.”

“ _There is one exception. If you’re able to achieve an Angel Suit Flush then all bets are off. No_ _one_ _has to be harmed._ _It doesn’t matter how many rounds deep your in._ _The winning hand is simply victorious.”_

“To you, perhaps. There’s a need to repay you. Not just for sparing me and giving me brief respite from the Crows but for the boots and the gloves as well.”

She placed her hands on his shoulders and leaned in close enough for her lips to brush against his, for her to ensnare him yet again. Those carnelian eyes could convince him of anything.

_“You let her win that round didn’t you? For what? What has she done for you that you would_ _risk_ _pain_ _?”_

“Give me more than your pretenses, Zevran.”

More, more, more. She was just being greedy, impossible even. Every other thing they came across in their travels was taken, no question asked, yet his gift was met with suspicion. Perhaps in the back of her mind, she still believed he was out for her blood.

He attempted a genuine laugh despite the angry twinge in his chest. “ Everything is a puzzle to be solved with you.”

Try as he might, Ione heard the bitter undertone. She whipped her head to the side as if she’d been slapped but recovered and refixed her attention upon him. This time she cupped his face.

“This is our last real breather before we battle the Archdemon. If there’s something you mean to say you _must_ say it now. There’s no guarantee that we’ll make it out alive.”

“Demonstrative gestures at the very last second are pointless; they will mean nothing.”

“You don’t believe that!” Realization settled over her features for a split second. Too loud. "You wouldn’t be trying to give me that earring if you did.” she hissed.

_“_ _Tsk, tsk, tsk. You’re three and 0, boy. The game is about lies and deceit. What assassin do you know is incapable of lying?"_

A sigh left his lips. She was a current pushing him further away from land.

“You say we are pressed for time, yes? Turn in for the night. Clear your mind. There are other things for you to focus on besides me, I am certain...Do those.”

He moved to get up and then—

“—Zevran, I’m not long for this world.”

Her usually powerful voice nothing but caricature of itself, she told him everything that only been recently dumped upon her. Slaying the Archdemon required a warden sacrifice to prevent it’s essence from possessing another tainted creature. There was no way Ione would place Alistair on to the chopping block thus she stepped up instead. It was a small wonder this Duncan fellow hadn’t told her all of this before she drank the Darkspawn blood.

Silence smothered all sound. Every muscle in his body tensed. This wasn’t true. It was just a card plucked from her sleeve to push him to confess to whatever inane thing she wanted. It had to be. The special tenderness in her eyes told him otherwise. It chilled him to the bone.

“I am sorry.” He rasped.

“For what?”

“Take your pick.”

Feeling as if the ground beneath him had begun to crumble, he escaped the tent before she could get a word in edgewise.

In his own tent, he laid, arms behind his head, and wondered whether her presence in his life was some form of divine retribution. He lured in so many, played with their emotions and cut them down. Now, he was at the mercy of a woman who could make a gaping hole appear in his chest and not need to plunge her halberd in to do so. It would be the perfect execution of poetic justice. But he had done what he did for the sake of a target. Duty. What was she doing it for? Cruelty? Even he wasn’t so cold.

_“_ _What good has_ _your_ _soft_ _heart_ _brought you? Nothing! You’re a mess._ _Cut deep. Bleeding everywhere.”_

And yet that need to hold her came rising again. The key to freedom from the inescapable pit within his mind was to have her in his arms and he in hers, it seemed. The ‘why’ was just something he couldn’t place his finger on.

_“_ _You’re addicted to it aren’t you? Such a masochist.”_

When he first met her, he expected the tip of her halberd to pierce through his jaw. Instead, she spared his life and gave it purpose and even had done so for those around her and those they encountered. This alarmed him. And while he hadn’t wished it, he expected her to buckle under the pressure of royal intrigue and Archdemon slaying heaped upon her shoulders. Rather than that, she persisted through tears and frustration and even had the nerve to burden herself with more. She didn’t need to seek out those Dalish gloves for him but she did and that was frightening. She wasn’t purposely going out the way to harm—in fact she acted in the manner of someone who wished to avoid such a thing—yet that made her all the more dangerous somehow. Even now with death around the corner she chose not to spend her night encapsulated by fear but by mingling with her companions and cajoling him to admit…

_"Having another being in charge of_ _your fate_ _is nauseating isn’t_ _it_ _?_ _You could want one thing and they c_ _ould_ _want another._ _Life could push you in one direction and the other person in the opposite._ _You’ll never know until it’s too late._ _That hesitation_ _you feel_ _is_ _your sense of_ _self-preservation._ _Don’t mar yourself for such a simple woman. For someone who sees you as nothing more_ _than_ _some sorry assassin."_

Everything crashed over him like a wave. The true fear wasn’t in that she wanted his heart. It was in that he would give it. He was a fool in love and in spite of her imminent demise he just wanted to be with her for as long a she’d have him.

_“_ _Angel of Charity, Angel of Death, Angel of Fortitude, Angel of Temerity and Angel of Truth._ _You lucky dog.”_

**Author's Note:**

> I hope Zevran didn't come off as too sulky.


End file.
